Thy fate 'tis easy to foreshow, Must be yon fly, If he escapes thy trammels yet; In which a fool has once been caught. And thou, poor Rose, whose livid leaves expand Bloom unadmired, uninjured die; Thine aspect squalid and forlorn, Ensures thy peaceful dull decay; Hadst thou with blushes hid thy thorn, Grown sweet to sense and lovely to the eye," Worn it an hour, "Then cast it like a loathsome weed away." LINES WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING OF YARDLEY OAK, CELEBRATED BY COWPER.* THIS sole survivor of a race From age to age it slowly spread A thousand years are like a day, * See Hayley's "Letters and Life of W. Cowper, Esq.' But mournful Cowper, wandering nigh, Oh that the Poet had revealed And fresh in undecaying prime, ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH. HIGHER, higher will we climb That our names may live through time Deeper, deeper let us toil In the mines of knowledge; Onward, onward may we press Excellence true beauty. Make we then a heaven on earth. Closer, closer let us knit Hearts and hands together, Oh! they wander wide, who roam THE PEAK MOUNTAINS. IN TWO PARTS. Written at Buxton, in August, 1812. It may be useful to remark, that the scenery in the neighbourhood of Buxton, when surveyed from any of the surrounding eminences, consists chiefly of numerous and naked hills, of which many are yet unenclosed, and the rest poorly cultivated; the whole district, except in the immediate precincts of the Baths and the village of Fairfield, being miserably bare of both trees and houses. PART I. HEALTH on these open hills I seek, For youth is fled;--and less by time The pride, the strength of manhood's prime Restless and fluttering to expire, Life's vapour sheds a cold dim light, Frail as the evanescent fire Amidst the murky night, That tempts the traveller from afar A dreary torpor numbs my brain; Now shivering pale,-now flushed with heat; Unequal pulses beat; Quick palpitations heave my heart, Anon it seems to sink; Alarmed at sudden sounds I start, Bear me, my failing limbs! Oh, bear To breathe abroad the mountain air To view the prospect, waste and wild, Still dear to me, as to the child Ah! who can look on Nature's face, Her terrors awe, her beauties charm Already through mine inmost soul, This fevered frame and fretful mind, I quit the path, and track with toil That, welling from its secret source, Or spreads through rushy fens its course, The flocks and herds, that freely range The heifer stands aloof to gaze, I pause, he shakes his forelock, neighs, I seek the valley: --all alone I seem in this sequestered place;-Not so; I meet, unseen yet known, My Maker face to face; My heart perceives His presence nigh, LOVE is that name,--for GOD is LOVE! I worship:-"LORD! though I am dust Be Thou my strength; in Thee I trust; Be Thou my light." PART II. Emerging from the caverned glen, Beneath my path the swallows sweep; And wild flowers from the fissures peep, Now on the ridges bare and bleak, Cool round my temples sighs the gale; Angels of health! to man below Bear back to Him, from whom ye blow, Here, like the eagle from his nest, I take my proud and dizzy stand; |